


At the Sign of The Holly

by Persiflage



Series: Berena Kissing Prompts [3]
Category: Holby City
Genre: (Not Apologising for that pun!), Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Big Macho Army Medic Bernie Wolfe, Canon Bisexual Character, Canon Lesbian Character, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Injury Recovery, Kissing, Slow Bern, Slow Burn, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:20:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22771657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: Alternate Universe, alternate first meeting - Serena's a pub landlord (and was never married), but Bernie's still a big macho army medic (and was also never married).
Relationships: Serena Campbell/Bernie Wolfe
Series: Berena Kissing Prompts [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1633291
Comments: 10
Kudos: 69





	At the Sign of The Holly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rauz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rauz/gifts).



> Written for the kissing prompt _kisses where one person is sitting in the other’s lap._ This absolutely galloped away from me fast and furious. It's the longest fic I've written since last August, and I'm frankly amazed I got it finished, but I did, so I hope you enjoy!

Major Berenice ‘Bernie’ Wolfe is sitting in a corner of the pub, watching as her subordinates celebrate their safe return from their latest overseas posting, and nursing her double whisky, neat, when one of the barmaids, a woman with sparkling brown eyes and brown hair in a neat cut, stumbles over someone’s carelessly out-sprawled leg. Quick as a flash the Major’s arm shoots out and catches the woman around the waist to keep her from falling, but the barmaid’s momentum carries her straight into the Major, which is how she suddenly finds herself with a lap full of a buxom beauty.

“Well hello, soldier,” purrs the woman. “Nice reflexes.”

“Thanks,” answers Bernie, voice gone husky. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m good, especially now.”

Bernie can feel heat flushing her cheeks, and ducks her head a little, looking up from under her fringe at the woman, who’s showing no signs of moving, despite how busy the pub remains. “I shall reprimand Anderson later,” she tells the barmaid. “But with reluctance.”

The barmaid chuckles. “Very good, Major.” When Bernie gives her a startled look, the woman notes, “You’ve been referred to as Major by at least four of your subordinates, so unless it’s a nickname, I’m assuming that’s your rank.”

“Where are my manners,” Bernie says, and releases one of the barmaid’s hips, which she’d forgotten she was even clasping, to offer her hand. “Major Berenice Wolfe at your service, ma’am.” Then she adds, a little shyly, “Bernie to my friends.”

“And do I count as a friend?”

“Well, you are sitting in my lap, still,” Bernie points out with a tiny smirk.

“Well then, Bernie, I’m Serena McKinnie. Serena to my friends.”

Bernie flushes again, but says, “Pleased to meet you, Serena.” 

“Likewise. And thanks for the save. I should really get back to work now, though.” She leans back a little, then adds, “Don’t go without saying goodbye to me, okay?”

Bernie nods agreement, feeling a fizz of excitement in her blood, a fizz which threatens to bubble over when Serena leans back in and briefly brushes her lips against Bernie’s, before slowly climbing off her lap.

She’s barely left when another brown haired woman, younger than Bernie by a decade, arrives rather more conventionally and sits in the chair nearest to Bernie’s. “Guess the legendary Wolfe charm still works,” she observes with a cheeky grin.

“Captain Dawson.” Bernie acknowledges the newcomer in a far stiffer manner than she’d used when she’d talked with Serena McKinnie.

The young Captain winces at the tone of her superior’s voice. “Major Wolfe.”

“You’d better muster the men and women together so we can get them back to base and get them dismissed for their leave,” Bernie tells her.

Dawson nods, then gets up and turns around, calling out, “All right you lot, look lively. Time to muster out.”

There’s a muted cheer from the company, then a scraping of chairs across the flagstone floor, and a couple of dozen conversations break out. As they begin to file out, chivvied along by Captain Dawson, Bernie downs the last of her whisky, then she goes to pull herself upright using the edge of the table alongside which she’s been sitting.

“You’re injured!” The exclamation of concern comes from Serena, who has suddenly appeared at Bernie’s side.

“Recovering from an injury,” Bernie tells her. “Trust me, there’s a big difference.” She grabs the silver-topped walking stick that has been leaning in the corner almost behind her chair.

“What happened?” asks Serena anxiously, hovering solicitously at Bernie’s side. 

“I got blown up,” Bernie tells her. “Roadside IED.” She smiles at Serena as reassuringly as she can. “Don’t worry, I’m recovering. I was much worse off a couple of weeks ago.”

Seeing Serena’s not looking very reassured, Bernie lifts her free hand and puts the tips of her first two fingers under her chin, tilting it upwards. “What about a kiss for the gallant Major who saved you from a tumble to the floor?” she asks, going for cheekiness in the hopes of making Serena smile.

“Saucy,” Serena says with a smirk, which Bernie counts as a win. 

“Mmhmm,” hums the Major, smirking back.

Serena chuckles, then sits back down in Bernie’s lap and slides a hand into her hair, holding the back of her neck as she plants her mouth right on the Major’s. The kiss lasts until they’re both breathless, and in Bernie’s case, almost painfully aroused.

“You’re a bloody good kisser,” Serena says, voice low and raspy. She leans back a fraction, and Bernie immediately misses the warmth of her body which had moulded itself to hers as they kissed. “Here.” She pulls a folded piece of paper from her pocket and holds it out. “My number. Give me a call. Sooner rather than later, for preference.”

“Aye, aye,” Bernie replies. She pecks another, briefer, kiss to Serena’s lips, then waits as Serena slides off her lap. She manages to get to her feet and walks stiffly away, aware of the barmaid’s gaze on her as she crosses the room and pulls open the door to the pub. She doesn’t look back from the doorway because all her attention is on the men and women in the waiting trucks, and Captain Dawson, who’s standing alongside the door to the cab of the nearest truck.

“Let’s roll out, then,” Bernie says, and climbs awkwardly up into the passenger seat of the truck.

Bernie finds herself feeling relieved at the knowledge that after today she’ll be Major Wolfe, retired – she’s not sure how much longer she could otherwise stand the burning gazes Alex Dawson keeps turning on her. The younger woman had made a pass at her the morning of the day that Bernie had been blown up and had been roundly rejected. Dawson might have forgotten that a relationship between Major Wolfe and Captain Dawson was forbidden since the latter was the former’s subordinate, but Major Wolfe had not forgotten. She hadn’t reported it, but had told Dawson that if she made such a move a second time, she’d have no hesitation in doing so. A few hours later, Bernie and two of her colleagues had been travelling in a jeep that had hit a roadside IED, and she’d been lucky to survive. And even after she’d regained consciousness, it had looked like she might end up paralysed thanks to the spinal injury she’d incurred – not that the pseudoaneurysm was a joke, either.

She had survived, however, and is recovering, albeit much slower than she’d like. Now all she has to do is work out what to do with her time since she will no longer be Major Berenice Wolfe, trauma surgeon for the RAMC. 

BW-SC-BW-SC-BW

Hours later, as Bernie is driven away from the base in a taxi, all her worldly possessions contained in one large kit bag and one leather satchel, she decides to text Serena rather than calling her.

_Hi Serena, Bernie here. No longer Major Wolfe, just plain old Bernie Wolfe, civilian._

Only a few minutes pass before a reply pings back.

_Pretty sure you’re my age, so I object to the ‘old’. I also object to ‘plain’, because you’re quite the handsomest woman I’ve met in a long time._

_Flatterer._

The next moment her phone rings in her hand and she accepts the call immediately. 

“It’s not flattery if it’s true,” Serena says before Bernie can even greet her.

“Handsome?” Bernie repeats sceptically.

“Very handsome,” Serena agrees immediately, her voice full of warmth. “Where are you headed now that you’re a civilian.”

“My flat,” Bernie says with a sigh. “Which will need re-stocking with food I suppose.”

“Here’s a better plan,” Serena says. “Come over to mine. Don’t worry, I’ve got a spare room if you prefer.” Bernie feels her eyebrows shoot up under her unruly fringe at this. “I’ll feed you tonight, and then I’ll help you get your flat restocked tomorrow.”

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Bernie says, longing to say yes.

“You’re not asking, I’m offering. C’mon, it’ll be nice for me to have some company for a change. I’ve got enough cottage pie for two that I can take out of the freezer and have warmed up in next to no time.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Bernie says with a sigh.

Serena chuckles. “I’m a very kind person, Berenice Wolfe, Major, retired.”

Bernie tries, and fails, to hold back her trademark laugh, and she hears Serena laughing uproariously in response. “Where is your place?” she asks once she’s caught her breath.

Serena gives her the address, and Bernie relays the change of destination to the cabbie, who seems completely unperturbed by the situation. When she drops Bernie off outside a very nice detached house in a rather upmarket part of town, the surgeon can’t help blinking a bit in surprise at the sight of it, then she stares a bit as Serena comes hurrying out of the house and down to pavement, insisting on taking Bernie’s kitbag as she pays the cabbie. 

Once inside, she shows Bernie upstairs to the guest room, offers her the opportunity to take a shower or have a bath if she prefers, then tells her to take a nap if she wants one. 

“You’re looking a lot less fighting fit than you did at lunchtime when I saw you,” Serena explains when Bernie raises an eyebrow at the suggestion of a nap.

“Feel it,” Bernie admits gruffly. “I had a shower at the base, but I might take you up on the nap if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. I’ll wake you when dinner’s ready, if you like?”

“Yes please.”

Serena nods. “Okay.” She presses a light kiss to Bernie’s cheek, squeezes her shoulder, then says, “I’ll leave you to it.”

When Serena comes and wakes her up Bernie realises she has no idea how long she’s been asleep, but Serena kindly informs her. 

“That was some nap,” she teases, the warmth of her hand detectable even through the duvet that covers Bernie’s shoulder. “Ninety minutes.”

“Sorry. Did I miss dinner?” Bernie asks, voice husky from sleep.

The tip of Serena’s tongue comes out to wet her lips and Bernie feels a throb of arousal between her legs. “No, it’ll be ready in about ten minutes. Thought I’d wake you with enough time to freshen up and get dressed.”

“Thanks.” Bernie sits up and after Serena’s hand slips from her shoulder, she shoves the duvet to the side of the bed, baring the length of her body to the other woman. Then she sees the hungry look Serena’s giving her and feels herself flush – she’s wearing an old RAMC t-shirt and a pair of grey boxer shorts, her usual sleepwear, but she feels utterly naked.

“You’re the second woman to look at me like that today,” she observes, her voice still husky.

“I’m surprised that everyone doesn’t look at you like this,” Serena says candidly. “Wait. The second? Oh – the dark haired woman I heard someone refer to as ‘Captain’? Yeah, she definitely looked like she wanted to devour you.”

Bernie blinks in surprise. “How d’you – Wait, she was looking at me like that when we were all in the pub?”

“Yes. Didn’t you notice?”

Bernie shakes her head. “Not then, no. She was looking at me like that before I left the base.” She sighs. “She made a pass at me, the day I got blown up by the IED. I turned her down flat – it’s against the rules for a senior officer to get romantically or sexually involved with a subordinate. She didn’t take the rejection well, and visited me in the hospital on more than one occasion until I begged them not to let her in.”

Serena’s expression is compassionate. “I’m sorry that you were subjected to that kind of harassment.”

Bernie shrugs. “It’s over with now. She’ll be shipping out for another tour of duty soon.”

“I’ll let you get dressed, unless you want to come to dinner like that,” Serena says with a sly grin.

Bernie snorts, rolls her eyes, then swings her legs around until she’s sitting on the edge of the bed. “I bet you’d really like that, wouldn’t you, Serena McKinnie?”

“To tell the truth, Major, I would. But I’ll understand if you feel the need to cover up.”

“I do.”

Serena nods, then leans down and kisses her in a very promising manner. “I’d better go and get dinner out of the oven.”

“I’ll be down shortly.”

“Okay.”

Bernie waits until Serena’s gone before attempting to stand and finding that she’s relatively stable, she grabs her walking stick and moves over to the chair in which she left her kitbag. She rifles through it, then pulls her clothes on once she’s found what she was looking for. She has a sneaking suspicion that her new friend is going to appreciate her new look just as much as she appreciated the sight of Bernie in boxers and a t-shirt.

Once she’s dressed, she carefully makes her way downstairs and follows her nose until she finds the kitchen where Serena’s just sorting out the vegetables that she’d steamed to serve with her cottage pie.

“Hi,” Bernie says as she enters the kitchen.

Serena looks up from the dish of vegetables and her mouth actually drops open for a moment. “That outfit ought to be illegal,” she says, eyes still wide.

Bernie smirks. “Really?”

“Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be, is it?” Serena asks. “Smug little smirks because you know how delicious you look in those black skinny jeans and that white Oxford shirt.” 

Bernie chuckles, then walks towards Serena. “Can I do anything to help?”

Her new friend swallows, the gulp surprisingly audible. “You’d better just sit down,” Serena says, waving at the table where two place settings are waiting.

“Thanks.” Bernie’s glad to sit down since she’s aching from making the trip downstairs.

Within a very short space of time they’re both tucking into cottage pie and vegetables, and Bernie can’t quite suppress a moan of pleasure at how delicious it is, and how nice it is to be eating good home-cooked food.

“Do that again and I won’t be responsible for my actions,” Serena tells her, and Bernie bites back a laugh.

“Duly noted, Ms McKinnie,” she says, which earns her a snort. 

“You’re incorrigible, aren’t you?”

“Only with you,” Bernie says. She eats another couple of mouthfuls, then explains, “When I joined the RAMC it was still illegal for those who weren’t heterosexual to join any branch of the armed forces. I had to repress who I was for a long time until they changed the law. And even after 2000, I still wasn’t openly out for several more years – it took me a long time to feel safe enough to say anything.” She shrugs. “Even now, most people don’t know. I don’t actually know how to be ‘out and proud’.”

“That makes sense,” Serena says softly. “I’m lucky, I suppose, that I realised that I’m attracted to men and women at quite a young age – I was in my early twenties.” 

“Oh, I was young when I realised that I’m a lesbian. I just didn’t tell anyone.”

“Does that mean you didn’t get to experiment in your teens?” Serena asks, sounding startled.

Bernie snorts. “Serena, I’ve never experimented. At all. I’ve never even been in a relationship. Had a couple of one night stands while on leave about a decade ago, so I’m not technically a virgin any longer.”

“But–” 

Bernie can tell that she’s totally shocked her new friend and feels herself flush with embarrassment rather than arousal this time. “Sorry,” she says. “Didn’t mean to kill the mood with a sapphic angst fest.”

“Bernie, no.” Serena abandons her knife to reach across and clasp Bernie’s wrist. “You’re not tragic. Your love life might be, but you are not. I don’t pity you, in case that’s what you’re thinking. But I do feel bad that you’ve been deprived of the chance of companionship and love.”

Bernie shrugs, still feeling embarrassed, and continues eating.

They finish their meal in silence, and Bernie feels guilty for making things awkward between them. “I should go,” she says, reaching for her walking stick. “Thank you for the lovely meal, Serena. It’s the best thing I’ve eaten in years.”

Serena gets to her feet quickly and moves to Bernie’s side. “You don’t have to go, Bernie,” she says softly, reaching out to slide a hand up her arm. “And I would rather you didn’t go, but I’ll understand if you don’t want to stay.”

“I’ve made things awkward and uncomfortable,” Bernie mutters to her shoes.

“I’m not uncomfortable,” Serena says immediately. “And while things were awkward for a bit, they don’t have to remain so.” She leans in, pressing her forehead to Bernie’s. “I told you before, I don’t pity you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I feel concerned that you haven’t had the chance to joyfully explore and experiment as most people do, but your lack of experience is irrelevant to our undeniable sexual chemistry.” 

Bernie can’t help chuckling weakly at that, knowing that’s Serena’s right about their sexual chemistry. She’s never felt so drawn to another woman, and she’d never even flirted before today – the two one night stands she’d experienced had been entirely down to the other women picking her up. On both occasions she’d been told that she’d ‘pinged’ the other woman’s ‘gaydar’, and while Bernie isn’t sure she herself possesses such a thing, she can’t deny that she and Serena clicked immediately.

“At the very least stay and have a coffee with me, or something stronger if you prefer?”

“Um,” Bernie says, wondering if she dares to ask for what she’s particularly craving, and if Serena even has the stuff in the house. “Maybe not coffee as I’d like to be able to sleep tonight.”

“Something else you fancy? Aside from me, of course.”

That makes Bernie honk with laughter, which of course makes Serena laugh too. “I do fancy you,” she agrees, “but I also fancy some hot chocolate if you’ve got the stuff.”

“I have. Why don’t you go and have a seat in the other room, and I’ll bring some through?”

“Thanks.” Bernie leans in, carefully maintaining her balance and brushes a kiss to the corner of Serena’s mouth. 

Serena turns her head, simultaneously wrapping her arms around Bernie’s shoulders, before she kisses her fully on the mouth, her tongue quickly and expertly teasing Bernie’s lips apart. She can’t help moaning into the kiss, feeling a flood of heat and desire throughout her body. 

Moments later she gasps, feeling her back beginning to spasm, and Serena quickly eases her down into the chair again. 

“Would you be better off in bed or sitting on the sofa?” she asks.

“It’s a muscle spasm,” Bernie says through gritted teeth. “It will pass.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

Bernie begins unbuttoning her shirt with shaking hands. “If you wouldn’t mind rubbing the spasming muscles,” she tells Serena, and is grateful when the other woman helps her out of the shirt. She hears Serena’s gulp and looks up, vision blurring from the tears that the pain has induced.

“What?” she asks worriedly.

“Sorry, sorry,” Serena says. “It’s just. That’s a very big scar.”

“Sorry,” Bernie says.

Serena’s hand squeezes her shoulder. “Don’t apologise. Now, where do you want me?”

Bernie manages to indicate the spasming muscles without making her back any worse, and Serena pulls a chair closer to sit behind her before carefully placing her hands on Bernie’s back and massaging the muscles in question.

She can’t help a groan of relief from escaping as Serena’s warm hands begin to ease the spasm from her muscles.

“Oh God, Serena. Thank you,” she mutters.

“You’re welcome. Are you seeing a physiotherapist?”

“I need to find someone,” Bernie says. “Now that I’m no longer in the RAMC, I don’t have access to the therapist I’ve been working with.” She sighs. “Either of my therapists.”

Serena’s hands go still, then she asks, “PTSD?”

“Yeah,” Bernie says, aware that she sounds gruffer than before. She knows people can be weird about both PTSD and seeing a shrink, but Serena just resumes her ministrations. 

“I could give you the number of my therapist. Well, former therapist – I haven’t seen her for about six months, but she was brilliant at helping me to cope with losing my mother. She had vascular dementia and became very violent at times. I still have scars on my back from where her rings tore my skin when she attacked me in her confusion.”

Bernie turns around, ignoring the fact that she’s only wearing a bra, and wraps her arms around Serena. “I’m so sorry,” she says quietly. 

Serena hugs her back. “Thank you.” 

They hold each other for some time until a massive yawn leaves Bernie drooping in Serena’s arms.

“All right, Major, let’s get you upstairs and into bed.” Serena pulls away a little bit, then presses a fairly chaste kiss to Bernie’s mouth, before standing up and helping Bernie up from her chair.

“Sorry,” she mumbles behind her hand while trying to stifle further yawns.

“Don’t be silly,” Serena says gently. “You’ve nothing to apologise for. Now, do you still want a mug of hot chocolate, or do you just want to go to sleep.”

“Sleep,” Bernie says with a sigh.

“Okay.” She picks up Bernie’s shirt and helps her into it, then takes her free arm and leads her back upstairs. “Is that a wolf’s head on your walking stick?”

Bernie chuckles. “Yeah. It was my late father’s. The Colonel thought it was a huge joke to get it made after he broke his ankle one winter and needed a stick to walk. Once it became clear that I wasn’t going to end up paralysed by the IED, I sent one of my lieutenants to fetch it from my flat. I moved out of my parents’ place and sold it after my father’s death as it was far too big for just one person to rattle around in. Bought myself a flat and invested the rest of the money from the sale, along with my inheritance.” She snorts. “Between that and my Army pension, I can afford never to work again for the rest of my life, but I just can’t imagine never working again.” 

“What position did you hold in the RAMC?”

“I was a trauma surgeon.”

“Wow. Well I guess that explains why you wouldn’t want to give up working. It must have been a fairly adrenaline fuelled career.”

“Yes.” Bernie sits down heavily on the bed in the guest room. “I miss it so much.”

“Maybe, once you’re fully fit again, you can find work as a trauma surgeon in a civilian hospital?”

“That’s my hope,” Bernie agrees. She stifles another yawn.

“All right, soldier. Time to get some sleep. Do you need any further assistance?”

“Can you unfasten my bra for me, please? I don’t want to risk another muscle spasm doing it myself.” Bernie is surprised to note a pinking of Serena’s cheeks in response to her question and curses herself for forgetting that not everyone’s comfortable with nudity or near nudity in front of strangers. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. I forgot that I’m desensitised to getting my kit off in front of others. Too many years of communal showers.”

“It’s fine,” Serena says, and reaches around Bernie to unfasten the hooks. “Although you might want to consider getting some front fastening bras until you’ve completely recovered from that IED.”

“You’re probably right,” Bernie agrees. “I don’t think I’m ready to give up wearing one, even temporarily, even though they haven’t started sagging yet.” She looks up with a flush of embarrassment as she registers just what they’re talking about, and the fact that she’s talking to someone who’s still virtually a stranger. “Sorry, I–”

She gets no further before Serena is kissing her, and she allows herself to tumble backwards across the bed, bringing Serena with her. They kiss until they run out of air, and then Bernie, to her intense annoyance and further embarrassment, yawns hugely yet again.

Serena laughs softly, burying her face in Bernie’s left shoulder. “I really do think I should let you get some sleep now,” she says. 

“I’m sorry,” Bernie says mournfully.

“Don’t be,” Serena says immediately, lifting her head, then reaching up to cup Bernie’s face. “Don’t be. You’re still recovering from a potentially life-changing injury, it’s selfish of me to keep you from getting some much needed sleep.” 

Bernie can’t really argue with Serena, except on one small point. “You’re not selfish. It’s simply that your timing and mine is a little bit off. I promise that if you’re still interested once I’m fighting fit again, I will do my best to give you a very good time.”

“Deal,” Serena says, holding out her right hand. 

Bernie takes it and they shake hands, then Serena gives her a brief kiss to the temple before walking out of the room.

BW-SC-BW-SC-BW

Six months of dinner dates, nights at the pub, trips to the cinema and the theatre, and home-cooked meals in Serena’s home follow, during which Bernie continues to work hard at her physical therapy, and her psychotherapy, until her physio signs her off with a clean bill of health. A few days after that she has an interview with Henrik Hanssen and Ric Griffin, CEO and deputy CEO respectively, of Holby City Hospital for the role of trauma surgeon and clinical lead of the Acute Admissions Unit. 

And that evening Bernie has a date at hers and Serena’s favourite Italian restaurant, one with good food and an extensive wine list, and she’s very much hoping that tonight will be the night she gets to show Serena a very good time. To that end she spends more time than usual in preparing for her date – she wallows for a bit in the shower with a pleasantly scented shower gel and her favourite shampoo, then once she’s towelled herself dry, she slips on a pair of grey boxer briefs and a front fastening lacy black push-up bra (although she’s perfectly capable of undoing a back fastening bra now). After that she slips on her favourite white Oxford shirt with a black blazer over the top, and her ubiquitous black skinny jeans. She folds back the sleeves of the blazer and the shirt to leave her wrists and hands free, then decides to unfasten a couple of extra shirt buttons so that the lace of her bra just peeks through the V of the unbuttoned shirt. She brushes her hair, then applies light make up, finishing up with a pastel pink lipstick that more or less matches the colour of her lips, but makes them look stronger – or so Serena’s told her.

She grabs her wallet and her mobile phone, pocketing them both, then lets herself out of her flat – which these days looks a lot more homely than it has at any time in the previous eight years of Bernie’s ownership (largely thanks to Serena’s influence), and takes the lift down to the carpark. She folds herself into her sports car – a total indulgence purchased after she received her Ill Health pension lump sum from the Army – and drives across the city to collect Serena. 

She’s learned a lot about Serena in the last six months, including the fact that she’s not a barmaid as Bernie had initially assumed, but rather a pub landlord with three pubs in and around Holby. She’d only been serving in The Holly on the day that she and Bernie had met because one of her barmaids had needed to go home with morning sickness that inconveniently persisted until at least lunchtime. Her pubs are hugely popular and are run by extremely competent bar managers, and Bernie’s visited all three on more than one occasion in the time that she’s known Serena.

She doesn’t have the chance to get out of her car once she arrives at Serena’s before the woman in question is stepping out of the door and taking Bernie’s breath away. She quickly climbs out of the car, then hurries around to the passenger door and opens it in readiness for Serena, who is looking stunning in a Shiraz-red dress with a plunging neckline that shows off her décolletage, and almost makes Bernie drool.

“My, my,” Serena says, sounding actually breathless as her eyes rake up and down the length of Bernie’s body. “Someone scrubs up very well indeed.”

“Thanks,” Bernie says, voice low and raspy with arousal. Serena’s eyes darken, and Bernie can’t help wondering whether they’ll even get to the restaurant because Serena looks ready to devour her on the spot. “You look absolutely gorgeous.”

“Thank you, Major.” Serena’s voice is husky, too, and there are spots of colour on her cheeks, then the tip of her tongue comes out to wet her lower lip, and Bernie feels her sex clench with a rush of hot desire of a kind she’s never experienced before.

Bernie offers her hand to help Serena into her car, and finds she cannot resist lifting it to her lips to press a light kiss to her knuckles.

“You’re a regular gallant soldier, aren’t you?” Serena asks breathlessly, her eyes still dark with arousal.

“I do my best,” Bernie responds, then closes the passenger door before rounding the front of the car to fold herself into the driver’s seat.

“I do like this new look of yours,” Serena tells her once they’re en route to the restaurant. “Lean and sexy, just like you.”

Bernie feels her face heating up, as does her sex. “Thank you,” she murmurs. 

“Is that what you wore to your interview?”

“Oh. Uh, no. I wore a two piece suit. With, um, with a waistcoat.”

“That I have to see at some time in the not-too-distant future,” Serena says, her voice low and smoky at this point.

“Duly noted,” Bernie husks. She fears that one or both of them is going to combust before the evening’s out, but she sincerely hopes it’s not until they’ve actually made love because she’s been looking forward to it with increasing impatience as her physical recovery from the IED has progressed. 

Dinner passes in something of a blur for Bernie – afterwards she honestly cannot recall what food she ate, although she knows that neither she nor Serena drank much – she just knows that the sexual tension between the two of them is so thick it could be cut with a knife. It doesn’t help that Serena keeps looking at her like she wants to lay her down on the table and take her right there and then. Bernie herself hardly dares to look at Serena for more than a brief glance for fear of giving her exactly the same looks that she’s on the receiving end of.

Serena refuses dessert – which Bernie has never known her to do before, then calls for the bill, which they split before hurrying out to Bernie’s car. They are barely inside the vehicle before Serena’s mouth is on hers, her hands sliding into Bernie’s hair. By the time they come up for air Bernie is very aware that her boxer briefs are soaking wet, and that she is ripe for an explosive orgasm.

“Serena,” she gasps when the woman in question lays a hand high on her upper thigh. “Please.”

“Please what, Berenice?”

Bernie groans, both at the squeeze to her thigh, and Serena’s use of her full name. “Please don’t touch me because I cannot guarantee that I can safely drive you home if you do.” She’s very aware that she’s pleading with Serena, but she doesn’t care – she needs to be able to drive Serena home safely.

“Drive,” Serena orders, removing her hand.

Bernie drives.

When they arrive at Serena’s Bernie is all but hauled out of the car, and Serena keeps a tight hold of her hand all the way into the house.

“You. Upstairs. Now,” Serena orders, and Bernie find herself impossibly aroused even further by that tone. “First on the left.”

Bernie nods, toeing off her shoes, then hurrying up the stairs, desperately aware of how hot and wet her sex feels. 

Serena arrives in her bedroom almost out of breath, and Bernie doesn’t hesitate to regain control of the situation. She starts by pinning the other woman to her bedroom door, easily slotting one firmly muscled thigh between both of Serena’s, and kissing her hungrily on the mouth, up and down the pale column of her throat, then along her jaw until she nips at Serena’s ear.

She whines when Bernie soothes her ear with her tongue, then groans as she grinds down on Bernie’s thigh.

“Fuck you Berenice bloody Wolfe,” Serena husks desperately.

“No, Serena Campbell, I am going to fuck you.” 

Her hips stutter as she whines again, then Bernie unzips her dress and peels it down her body, moaning in pleasure as she spots the garters holding up her nude stockings, and the lacy black bra that barely contains Serena’s voluptuous breasts. She can smell her arousal even before she sinks to her knees and peels Serena’s lacy knickers down. 

She looks up at Serena and sees how dark her eyes are, and how she’s got her teeth sunk into her lower lip. “Ready?”

Serena groans out a ragged affirmative, and Bernie dives straight in, drawing her tongue up the length of her sex, then swirling it around Serena’s clit.

“Oh fuck!” The gasped words are accompanied by the thud of Serena’s head meeting her door, and then she gasps again as Bernie eases her thighs further apart and slides two long, dextrous fingers inside her slick heat. 

Bernie Wolfe might not have had much practice at sex with another woman, but she more than makes up for it by having a clever mouth and cleverer fingers, a lot of patience, and a determination to ensure that her partner has a good time. She takes Serena to the brink over and over again, the other woman’s hand clutching her hair as she moans and gasps and shudders closer and closer, until she’s sobbing and begging for release. At which point Bernie happily pushes her over the edge, eliciting a wail of pure pleasure. 

Then she’s on her feet and nuzzling her nose into the crook of Serena’s neck as she keeps her from slithering bonelessly down the door.

“Bloody hell, woman,” Serena eventually gasps. “Bed. Please.”

Bernie chuckles, giving her a coy look, then half carries Serena over to the bed. She helps her to settle back against her pillows, peeling off the rest of her underwear at Serena’s request.

“Are you okay?” she asks once Serena’s naked.

She nods. “I just need a minute. Or maybe five.” Bernie can’t help smirking at that, which earns her a swat to the arm. “While I’m taking my minutes, you need to do something about the fact that you’re entirely overdressed.”

“Good point,” Bernie says, smirking again. She slips off her blazer, folds it, then sets it down on the chair by the window. She toes off her socks, then slowly unbuttons her shirt, but holds the edges for a long moment, watching Serena, who’s watching her avidly.

“Off,” Serena says imperiously, flicking a hand at Bernie. She chuckles, then allows the shirt to slide off, and feels a throb in her sex when Serena’s eyes darken again.

“Jeans,” Serena husks, still staring intently.

Bernie obeys, sliding the dark denim down her legs before adding them to the pile of clothes on the chair.

“Come here.” 

She crosses to the bed and crawls up its length, and once she’s close Serena pulls her down into a protracted, heated kiss that leaves Bernie aching. Then Serena flicks the front of her bra open, before lifting her hands to cup Bernie’s breasts, ghosting the pads of her thumbs over the already stiff nipples.

“I love the fact that I can fit your breasts into the palms of my hand.”

“They’re too small,” Bernie says a little flatly.

“Now you listen to me Berenice Wolfe, they are not too small. They’re gorgeous, and anyone who tells you otherwise isn’t worth your time. Do you understand?”

Bernie nods, a little taken aback by the ferocity of Serena’s words. She feels tears prick at her eyes and blinks them back. She’s had both men and women comment negatively on the size of her breasts, and she feels some of her hurt soothed by Serena’s outright, very vocal appreciation for them. She’s a little startled when Serena pulls her in closer and cuddles her, her arms wrapped tightly around Bernie’s lanky form, but she goes with it. She thinks it’s funny that being around Serena has made her far more tactile than she ever was before she met her lover – she had always felt stiff around other people, but not with Serena. She’s learned to not only accept kisses and caresses, a hand to her lower back, on her arm or shoulder, a squeeze, fingers tangling together until they’re holding hands, she’s also learned how to touch Serena. Perhaps not as casually as Serena does it, but certainly a lot less stiffly than ever before.

“I think it’s about time I took care of you, don’t you, Major?”

Serena’s words pull Bernie from her self-reflective reverie, and she feels her breath hitch when a hand slips beneath the waistband of her boxer briefs. 

“Yes. Please.” 

Serena positively purrs when she discovers just how slick and ready Bernie is for her, and the surgeon soon finds herself rolled onto her back before her boxers are slid down her legs and dropped onto the floor. 

“You’re absolutely gorgeous,” Serena murmurs, her fingers teasing the outer lips of Bernie’s sex. 

“Please,” Bernie gasps. “Serena.”

“It’s okay, my darling, I’ve got you.” 

Bernie can’t restrain the twitch of her hips as Serena slides two fingers into her wet heat. 

“You’re so ready for me, aren’t you?” she murmurs, beginning to thrust her fingers in and out in a fast rhythm.

“Yes,” Bernie gasps. “Been ready for months. Just couldn’t – ungh!” The rest of her sentence is lost as she comes much sooner than she’d anticipated, and harder too, her muscles squeezing Serena’s fingers tightly. 

“Oh my darling,” Serena whispers, sounding awed to Bernie’s ears. “You–” She leans down and kisses Bernie hungrily. “More?” She twitches her fingers inside Bernie at the question, and she can’t even verbalise a response, but her muscles tighten around Serena’s fingers again.

Bernie’s second orgasm takes a bit longer to arrive, lasts much longer, and feels even more intense than the first, and she now fully understands Serena’s need to take a minute or five. She watches through half lidded eyes as Serena eases her fingers free of Bernie’s sex, then lifts her hand and licks them clean of her juices, a sight which makes Bernie flush and moan.

“Okay?” 

Bernie manages to nod, still too spaced out to actually speak. Serena looks immensely smug as she crawls back up the bed to settle at her side. 

“Someone’s very pleased with herself,” Bernie rasps out eventually.

“Someone is currently feeling like a goddess for having reduced you to a non-verbal jelly,” Serena says teasingly.

“I’ll get you back, Campbell,” Bernie mutters, which elicits a loud laugh.

“I don’t doubt it, Major. And I very much look forward to it.” Serena nuzzles her nose against Bernie’s. “For now, though, I think sleep might be in order.”

Bernie opens her mouth to respond, and finds herself yawning instead. “Yeah. Think you might be right.”

Serena pulls the duvet up over them, and Bernie shifts to spoon her, resting her right hand on Serena’s belly.

“Good night, love,” Bernie whispers.

“Good night, my darling.” 

Bernie’s eyes close and she briefly brushes her lips to Serena’s neck before succumbing to sleep.


End file.
